Paint it black
On days like this i always wish differently. Being subjected to it weakens me. Hurts me. It was not my idea in the first place and i am getting the brunt of it. I hate it. And when season’s over, it flew away like it never happened until the cloud gets gray again and knifes are sharpened, spatulas hurled and ashes dust the floor. No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue I could not foresee this thing happening to you If i look hard enough into the setting sun My love will laugh with me before the morning comes